Chase the Lightning

by Madeline Baker

  She leaned back against Trey, her heart overflowing with gratitude that he was alive.

  They hadn’t gone far when a shout roused the camp.

  Muttering an oath, Trey slammed his heels into the stallion’s flanks, and Relámpago took off at a dead run, streaking across the land like the lightning he’d been named for.

  There was a flurry of gunshots, the pounding of hooves behind them, the loud report of a rifle, the flare of a muzzle flash as one of the sentries tried to head them off.

  Trey’s arm tightened around her waist as they raced away into the night. She knew she should be afraid but, strangely, she wasn’t. The stallion ran effortlessly, easily outdistancing the weary cavalry mounts behind them. The sounds of pursuit grew faint, then faded away. Still, Relámpago ran, his long legs eating up the miles.

  Trey finally slowed the stallion to a canter, then a rocking chair trot.

  Her head resting against Trey’s shoulder, Amanda lost track of time. Her eyelids grew heavy and she closed her eyes, drifting in and out of sleep until she felt the stallion come to a halt.

  “Where are we?” she asked sleepily.

  “About halfway to Tucson.” Trey slid over the stallion’s rump and lifted her from the horse’s back. We’ll stop here for the night.”

  “All right.” She leaned into him, her arms twining around his neck, reveling in his nearness. “I was afraid,” she said, “so afraid you’d been killed.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “I am now.”

  He drew her closer, his hand sliding up her back, tunneling into her hair.

  “Ouch!” A wave of nausea pulsed through her.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “My head. Feel the size of that lump?” She winced as his fingers gently probed the bump.

  “Damn Red Shawl,” he muttered. “I should have taken a stick to her.”

  “Red Shawl? What does she have to do with anything?”

  “She’s the one who hit you. Young Bear saw her.”

  “Oh! I told you she was out to get me!”

  He folded her into his arms again. “I should have listened to you. I will, next time.”

  “See that you do.” She closed her eyes as the pain throbbed through her head. “Tucson?” she said after a moment. “You said Tucson.” She opened her eyes and looked up at him. “Are we going there? Why are we going there? Aren’t we going back to your people?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “My grandfather said my life was to be somewhere else. With you.”

  “Do you want to leave the Apache? I thought you were happy there.”

  “I was, but…”

  “But what?”

  He shrugged. “When Walker on the Wind said my path led in a different direction, I knew he was right.” He ran his knuckles over her cheek. “Come on, let’s get some sleep.”

  * * * * *

  Tucson. She had seen the town depicted in numerous Westerns, but the real thing was a lot rougher and cruder than what she’d seen on television. And she’d never watched TV with a headache the size of the one she had when they arrived in town.

  “We’re not going to stay here, are we?” she asked dubiously.

  “Just long enough to get you a change of clothes, a bath, and a good night’s sleep.”

  She couldn’t decide which of the three sounded best. “Maybe some Tylenol, too?” she asked.

  “What?”

  She closed her eyes. Had aspirin even been invented yet? She wasn’t sure. “Headache medicine,” she said.

  He grunted softly. “We’ll find something.”

  “And a real meal, in a restaurant?” she asked. “Fixed by a real cook?”

  He laughed softly. “That too. I found a couple of dollars in my jeans.”

  They left Relámpago at the livery barn at the end of town and walked down the street toward Naismith’s Dry Goods Store.

  Amanda was acutely aware of the curious glances sent their way as they walked along. She sighed inwardly. First her tank top and Nikes had made her the object of curious eyes, now her deerskin dress and moccasins were doing the same thing. Though Trey had on his jeans and shirt, he still wore his Apache moccasins.

  It didn’t take much imagination to know what people were thinking, and none of it was good. A big man with limp brown hair and close-set gray eyes stepped into their path, his expression belligerent. She could feel the tension radiating from Trey. His hand, rock-steady, hovered over the butt of his gun as he met the man’s gaze. After a tense moment, the man moved aside and they continued on down the street.

  She felt safer inside the dry goods store. Trey remained at her side while she picked out a dress, as well as a red flannel petticoat for warmth, a chemise, stockings and garters, and a pair of half-boots. And then they went to the men’s department where he picked up a blue wool shirt, a pair of black trousers, socks and boots. She watched him choose a hat, remembering the day in Canyon Creek when she had bought him a new Stetson. The hat he picked now was a dark chocolate brown. She smiled as she watched him settle it on his head. What was there about a man in a hat?

  The clerk allowed as how they had a selection of patent headache remedies, and lead them to a shelf where she picked out a couple, hoping one of them would work, though after looking at some of the other “cures” offered, she was doubtful. “Dr. John Raymond’s Worm Destroyer”, Dr. Phineas T. Paul’s Prickly Ash Bitters”, “Dr. Jay Arthur’s Female Remedy and Blood Purifier”, Dr. Hood’s Nerve Tonic”. The promises made on the packages had never made any sort of acquaintance with truth in advertising. She glanced at the two headache powders she had chosen. The contents probably wouldn’t poison her. She hoped. At the moment, she didn't care, if her head would just stop pounding.

  Trey paid for their purchases and tucked the parcels under his arm. Leaving the mercantile, they headed down the street toward the hotel.

  The man behind the front desk looked them over with a jaundiced eye. Amanda thought he was going to refuse to rent them a room. His glance shuttled back and forth, but when he met Trey’s eyes, he blinked and then focused on the crown of Trey’s new hat.

  “Welcome to The Savoy,” he muttered. He handed Trey a key and directed them up the stairs to Room 12.

  Trey nodded his thanks and led the way up the stairs and down the narrow corridor to their room. He opened the door and she followed him inside.

  You had to hand it to Hollywood, she thought as she glanced around. It looked just like the set of a B Western. The familiar cabbage rose wallpaper, an iron bedstead, a rocking chair in the corner, a chest of drawers with a porcelain ewer on top, a single window that looked out over the main street.

  “Well, it’s not much,” Trey said. He dropped their packages on the bed, unbuckled his gunbelt and slung it over the back of the rocker.

  Amanda sat on the edge of the bed, and immediately sank down into the mattress. She looked up at Trey and grinned. “Get me out of here,” she said, holding out her hand.

  Trey took her hand in his and pulled her to her feet and into his arms. She melted against him, her face lifting for his kiss, her headache forgotten.

  His gaze moved over her for a moment, and then he claimed her lips with his. Desire unfurled within her, its heat spreading through her like liquid sunshine, settling deep in the core of her being. She sighed with pleasure as his hands slid up and down her rib cage, then cupped her breasts.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked. “I don’t suppose…”

  For answer, she nibbled on his lower lip, sucked it gently, feeling pure feminine satisfaction flood through her, blotting out the ache from her injury, as his desire rose against her.

  “You’re sure?”

  She plucked his hat from his head and tossed it on the chair. “I’m sure,” she whispered.

  He walked backward, drawing her with him. Locked in each other’s arms, they fell in slow motion onto the bed, and sank into the mattress. Her greedy h
ands ran over his shoulders, splayed across his chest, roamed up and down his arms. She loved touching him, loved the feel of his heated skin against her own. The fact that she had feared she might never seen him again inflamed her ardor even more. The pounding of her heart overpowered the throbbing in her head as she pressed kisses to his brow, his cheeks, his nose. His lips. She kissed him hungrily. Heat flowed through her. Her heart swelled with love until she thought it might burst.

  “I’ll never let you go away from me again,” she whispered.

  “Amanda…”

  Trey gazed up at her. How beautiful she was, with her cheeks flushed and her eyes glowing with passion. He kissed her deeply, wishing he had words enough to tell her how much she meant to him, how utterly lost he had felt when she was missing, but all he could do was whisper that he loved her over and over again. He wanted her, needed her with an urgency that could no longer be denied. Wanted all of her, heart and soul, mind and body.

  Somehow, they managed to get out of their clothes until there was nothing between them but raw aching desire. His hands moved over her, big callused hands that brought her nothing but pleasure. Hands that worshipped her.

  Rolling over, Trey tucked her gently beneath him. Eyes aglow with passion, he claimed her lips with his as their bodies fused together, heat to heat and heart to heart, until he couldn’t tell where he ended and she began, until, in the end, they were truly one body, one flesh…

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  They napped, snuggled together in each other’s arms, and then made love again, slower this time. Trey. He was every wish come true, every fantasy she’d ever had made flesh. She dozed, her head on his shoulder, and knew she wanted nothing more of life than to be with Trey, to bear his children, and grow old beside him.

  When she woke, she realized she wanted two other things, badly. A bath, and something to eat.

  When she mentioned it to Trey, he agreed to go downstairs and see about getting some hot water sent up.

  Rising, he washed up using the cold water in the bowl on the bureau, then went downstairs to talk to the clerk.

  A short time later, Amanda slipped into her tunic and padded barefoot down to the room at the end of the hall where a young boy was pouring the last bucket of hot water into the tub. He looked at her sideways, murmured something unintelligible, and left the room just as Trey came in.

  She luxuriated in the tub under Trey’s amused glance, smiled when he took the soap from her hand and washed her back. And her front. And all the places in between. The water was growing cool when she stepped out.

  He peeled off his shirt while she toweled off.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “I’m gonna take a bath.”

  She glanced at the tub. “But the water’s dirty.”

  “It’s clean enough for me. Besides, if we wait for more hot water, we’ll never get out of here to eat.”

  A short time later, dressed in their new clothes, they left the hotel and headed for the nearest restaurant. Amanda felt much better. Earlier, she had taken one of the headache powders they’d bought, though she couldn’t swear that was what had made her headache go away. It could just as easily have been the nap, or the hot bath, or just being with Trey again. In his arms again. Warmth engulfed her when she recalled how fiercely they had made love.

  Now, waiting for the waitress to come and take their order, she smoothed her hand over her new dress. Not for the first time, she felt as if she had stepped into a Western movie. The restaurant was a large, rectangular building. Square tables were placed at intervals around the room, covered with red-and-white-checked cloths. Matching curtains hung at the windows. There was sawdust on the floor.

  She glanced at the people at the other tables. Men in shirts and vests, canvas pants, cowboy boots; women clad in long-sleeved dresses and bonnets.

  Trey ordered steak, Amanda ordered fried chicken.

  “How’s your head?” he asked.

  “Much better.” She touched the lump; it had gone down quite a bit. “Why?” she asked. “Why did those soldiers attack us?”

  “They don’t need a reason, but I reckon there was a raid somewhere. Maybe by another band of Apaches, maybe Comanches, maybe Kiowas.” He shook his head, his expression hard. “It doesn’t matter. To the Army, one Indian is the same as another. They won’t be happy until they’ve wiped us all out, or confined us on reservations where they can keep an eye on us.”

  “That’s awful.” Her eyes widened. Why hadn’t it occurred to her before? Many of the historical characters she had read about or seen depicted in movies and on television were alive now. Frank and Jesse James. Custer and Crazy Horse. Geronimo and Cochise. She thought of the movie, Broken Arrow. She had seen it several times on the classic movie station, and it had become one of her favorite old movies. Jeff Chandler had been a surprisingly effective Cochise, and Jimmy Stewart had been perfect as Tom Jeffords, the man who had traveled alone to the Chiricahua hideout and made peace with the Apaches.

  “Do you know Cochise, and Geronimo?”

  “I’ve met them. Why?”

  “I just wondered. They haven’t been forgotten, you know. In my time, they’re still making movies about their lives. I’m not sure how accurate the history is, but…”

  “The whites are a strange people. First they try to wipe my people out, and then they tell stories about them.”

  Amanda sat back as the waitress approached and served their dinner. Chicken and potatoes and corn on the cob. Fresh bread and butter. And coffee. She picked up her cup, inhaled deeply before she took a sip.

  They ate in silence for a few minutes. Amanda savored every bite. The chicken was tender, succulent, the potatoes were swimming in gravy. Apache fare had been filling, but nothing like this.

  When the waitress came by to offer dessert, Amanda ordered a slice of chocolate cake and another cup of coffee. She looked at Trey. “Aren’t you going to have anything?”

  “No.”

  She looked thoughtful a moment. “Why don’t you have a piece of apple pie?”

  “Why?”

  “Well, I’d like some pie, too.”

  “Then have some.”

  “Well, I want cake, too. So, if you had pie, we could share our desserts.” She smiled at him. “What do you think?”

  With a shake of his head, Trey ordered a piece of pie.

  * * * * *

  Later, they walked arm in arm down the street. “I’m stuffed,” Amanda remarked.

  “I’m not surprised,” Trey said, grinning. “I didn’t know a little bit of a thing like you could pack away so much grub.”

  “Well, you were supposed to eat half the cake and half the pie, you know. That was the whole idea of ordering both.”

  “You were enjoying them too much.”

  “Well, they were mighty good.” Or maybe it was just being with Trey that made everything seem brighter, sweeter, better.

  Trey paused when they reached the hotel. “Why don’t you go on up to the room.”

  “Where are you going?”

  He jerked a thumb in the direction of the saloon across the street. “It’s time to make a little money.”

  “Oh.” She ran her fingertips up and down his arm. “Will you be gone very long?”

  “Not with you here waiting for me.”

  The look in his eyes sent a shiver of anticipation down her spine.

  “All right,” she said. “But be careful.”

  He winked at her. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’m always careful.” He kissed her, hard and quick, gave her an affectionate swat on her behind as she turned to open the hotel door.

  She glanced at him over her shoulder. “Hey, watch it, cowboy.”

  “Oh, I’m watching it,” he said with a roguish grin. “I’ll be back soon.”

  “I’ll be waiting.”

  “I’m counting on it.”

  * * * * *

  The saloon was in full swing. The gambling tables were crowded, th
e bar girls were swishing back and forth from the bar to the tables, smiling and serving drinks. They were pretty girls, if you didn’t mind the heavy rouge on their cheeks and the world-weary lines around their eyes. A piano player sat in the corner pounding out a rendition of My Old Kentucky Home while three couples danced. The air was thick with smoke.

  Trey found a place at a table in the back and sank into an empty chair. The game was five-card draw, the stakes were high, and he was feeling lucky.

  An hour later, he was more than eight hundred dollars ahead.

  He was thinking about calling it a night when Wolf Langley slid into the chair across from him. Trey’s eyes narrowed as he met the bounty hunter’s gaze.

  “Evenin’,” Langley said.

  Trey grunted. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  Sensing the underlying tension between the two men, the other three men at the table went suddenly still.

  Langley raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I didn’t come in here looking for any trouble. Just looking for a friendly card game. Hell, I didn’t even know you were in town.”

  At Trey’s nod, the other card players relaxed.

  “Everybody in?” the dealer asked, and when the pot was right, he dealt a new hand.

  Trey played for another hour, winning more than he lost. It was nearing eleven when he left the table.

  Leaving the saloon, he started across the street, his thoughts on Amanda. He felt a rush of desire when he thought of her waiting for him in the hotel. She was likely in bed, her hair spread like wildfire on the pillow.

  He had just reached the boardwalk in front of the hotel when something warned him. He wasn’t sure what it was, a shadow, a footstep, or just that sixth sense that had saved his hide more than once. Dropping into a crouch, he spun around, reaching for his gun, as a bullet whined through the space he had just occupied and buried itself in the boardwalk. A muzzle flash across the street was followed by another booming report, and the thwack of a slug hitting the wall behind him.

  He fired at the dim silhouette the muzzle flash had illumined and heard a man grunt in pain, then the sound of a body hitting the ground.